


Hot Brunettes, Huh?

by Unosarta



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Avengers Vol. 1 (1963), Fluff, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unosarta/pseuds/Unosarta
Summary: In which Steve’s crush on Tony Stark is almost massive enough to rival his obliviousness to Tony’s feelings for him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 292





	Hot Brunettes, Huh?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/gifts).



> Happy birthday Addy!!! I’ve been sitting on this fic for a while and what better time to post ID porn than your birthday! You deserve it.

Steve has a history of falling for beautiful, unattainable people. Bucky and Toro would tease him for it, in their easy way, when he was with the Invaders. They would take him to the pictures when they had leave and watch his face to see who his eyes lit up at.

Early on in his deployment, before the Invaders had formed and Bucky was just an annoying kid in his barracks, he had seen Penny Serenade on his own. He had dreams about Cary Grant for weeks. Irene Dunne was beautiful too, and seeing them together was something else, but he couldn’t get Grant’s face out of his mind. His strong chin, his sharp nose, his cheekbones, his beautiful eyes.

Before he had Bucky and Toro to confide in, he took to drawing the stars he fell for. He had pages and pages of Katherine Hepburn, Vivienne Leigh, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart.

If you’d have asked him what he would have done with them, he couldn’t have told you. Kiss them, maybe. Go to dinner with them, perhaps. But mostly his fantasies were nameless, formless things. The idea of Jimmy Stewart and his handsome face was more important to Steve than any specific interaction he could have with the man.

Bucky and Toro didn’t mind that he was over the moon for certain male actors. They didn’t seem to take his infatuation as seriously as Steve did.

He didn’t tell Bucky or Toro, but his favorite movie he saw during the war was Arsenic and Old Lace. The younger Invaders thought it was weird and gross, but Steve felt an affinity for the bizarre and dark humor. He thought that if he had seen it while he was younger, and sicker, he might have wanted to be a writer like Mortimer.

While they were in the submarine, heading back to New York, he asked Iron Man if they had movies still in the future. The robot-man-thing bent over with laughter. “Oh, Cap,” he said, “I can’t wait to show you everything you’ve missed.”

Steve stumbles into the mansion, exhausted from fighting Namor and saving the team that rescued him from the ice. Iron Man insisted that Steve come back to the mansion and meet his employer.

When the man saunters down the foyer steps, suit jacket over one shoulder, Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

Tony Stark is breathtaking in a way that none of his movie star crushes had been. Everything about him is beautiful, poised, elegant, and utterly unperformed.

Later, during press conferences and public events, Steve will see his charm is amped to the max, obviously there to make others fall in love with him. But when he smiles at Steve on the staircase, everything about him is so real.

And his smile. His eyes thin and his lips spread and it feels like all of the warmth in the world is in your chest and your face. He would grin and you would think “I would do anything to make you look at me like that.”

Or at least, that’s the effect it has on Steve. He has to carefully control himself when he talks to Mr. Stark, to keep a dopey smile off his face. Bucky used to tease him about the way he used to look at movie posters. He can only imagine how much worse it must be now.

But now it’s not just Mr. Stark’s face he gets to moon over. Sometimes Mr. Stark - call me Tony, he said to Steve, and Steve couldn’t quite bring himself to do it - takes off his form fitting suit jacket and Steve can see his arms, his shoulders, his chest and his back. Steve can see the powerful shape of his thighs and the curve of his ass. It is overwhelming. And, if Steve was really lucky, Mr. Stark might roll up his sleeves and bare his forearms to the world.

Steve wants to reach out and touch, wants to let his fingers explore every inch of Mr. Stark until he can see him with his eyes closed. He thinks about what Mr. Stark smells like, in his fancy clothes. He thinks about Mr. Stark in his workshop, developing the Iron Man armor. He thinks about Mr. Stark covered in engine grease with his perfect hair tousled.

He thinks about Mr. Stark too damn much, is what he’s decided.

It’s no wonder he doesn’t hesitate when asked to move into the mansion.

Part of the problem is that Steve is very good at going unnoticed. His looks at Mr. Stark are surreptitious, brief, and casual. He doesn’t let his eyes roam - not like he wants to - and focuses on parts at a time. Just on his wrists and his hands covered in scars and calluses. Just on his nose and the play of his lashes on his cheeks.

Just on his lips, and his well groomed mustache. Just on his teeth and his tongue. Just on his eyes, his beautiful eyes. When he first meets Mr. Stark, they remind Steve, for a terrible moment, of the Atlantic Ocean. But the color means something more to him now, something better, now that it’s Mr. Stark’s eyes. That deep grey-blue is so, so pretty.

Steve asks Jan several times if Mr. Stark is a model. He’s sure the man must be. Jan explained the concept to him when she told him about what she did outside the Avengers, and he’s convinced Mr. Stark could make anything he wears look like it’s a million bucks.

He sees him in a ratty long sleeved shirt one night, coming up from the basement workshop. Asking where Jarvis is. Steve splutters for a few seconds, trips over his own words, before lamely saying he hasn’t seen him.

Steve’s never seen Mr. Stark look anything but well groomed and elegant. Watching him put his hands through his hair, seeing the patches of warm skin peeking through burned holes in the arms of his shirt, it shouldn’t be attractive. There is no reason for it to be attractive.

Steve can’t stop thinking about it, though, even days later.

* * *

Iron Man is a lifesaver. He listens to Steve, cares about Steve, and fights alongside Steve. Iron Man is his best friend in the future, and might be the closest he’s ever felt to anyone since Arnie. So he should be able to talk to Iron Man about his crush, he should be able to share his feelings.

He doesn’t know why he’s so afraid to talk about Mr. Stark. It might be that the man is Iron Man’s boss. It might be that Iron Man would feel jealous. It might be that it would make it too frighteningly real. Being sweet on someone you’re living with is massively different than being sweet on a distant movie star.

He also doesn’t want to make Iron Man _or_ Mr. Stark uncomfortable. He’s sure that they would be - Iron Man has never talked to Steve about people he is interested in, and Steve doesn’t exactly have anything to offer Mr. Stark.

Steve knows objectively that he is considered attractive. He stole moments with men and women during the war, when he could, and they had never complained. But Tony Stark was something different. He would never want a man like Steve, even if he was attracted to men.

Mr. Stark would want someone intelligent, able to push him and challenge him. Mr. Stark would want someone subtle and deft, able to keep up with his formidable wit. Mr. Stark would want someone coy and alluring.

Steve was none of that. Steve wasn’t an idiot, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Mr. Stark’s genius. He was too loud, too blunt, and too stupidly earnest. He would never be anything that Mr. Stark could want.

He knows it’s not Mr. Stark’s fault, that this is his head getting wrapped up in his own thoughts, but it makes him feel small when he’s talking to the man. He feels like he did before the serum, like anything can barrel him over, like he is fragile and clumsy and eminently pitiable.

It doesn’t help that he gets nervous around Mr. Stark. He’s normally very aware and in control of his body, but when Mr. Stark is around, Steve becomes harshly aware of every minute movement of his own body, desperate not to make a fool of himself by revealing his feelings. All of his grace leaves him - he’s never knocked over nearly so many things, or hit his shins nearly so much, since he was hit with the VitaRays.

He knows Mr. Stark probably doesn’t even notice, probably doesn’t have eyes for someone like Steve, but he can’t help himself from overthinking everything.

He’s glad Iron Man and Mr. Stark have such different schedules, because he’s sure if Iron Man saw the way Steve acted around Mr. Stark, he would know what Steve was feeling immediately.

* * *

Iron Man keeps his promise. He - Mr. Stark that is to say - has a massive collection of films in the mansion, and they slowly work through the decades between Steve’s past and present. Iron Man is just as observant as Bucky and Toro were.

“You got eyes for Cary Grant?” He says to Steve, laughing. His robotic laugh is so strange, but Steve likes to hear it.

Steve blushes a little bit, and looks away. “You gonna make fun of me for lookin’?”

“Hey, hey, no,” Iron Man says quickly, reassuringly. “Not gonna judge. Cary Grant is a stud, I can’t blame you. I’m more of a Paul Newman guy myself.”

Steve’s pulse slows, panic draining from his body. It was okay, Iron Man wasn’t going to be cruel. “Paul Newman?” He asks, tentatively.

“Oh yeah! He must have been after your time. Here, let me grab _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof _, it’s a classic. And Paul Newman is,” Steve is sure Iron Man must be making some kind of suggestive face underneath the armor, “very attractive.”__

Iron Man is right. Paul Newman isn’t his type, but the man is handsome. He can’t stop looking at Elizabeth Taylor, though, and Iron Man catches on quick.

“You’ve got good taste, Cap. Grant and Taylor,” he whistles, the sound modulated by the mask, “hot brunettes, huh?”

Steve doesn’t think of Mr. Stark, can’t think of Mr. Stark, will not think of Mr. Stark. “Yeah,” he chokes out, hands clenched in his lap.

Iron Man turns back to the movie and Steve sighs quietly.

 _You’re not going to fuck this up, Rogers_ , he thinks to himself sternly.

* * *

Of course, Steve doesn’t actually have to do anything at all for his life to turn upside down. Mr. Stark sees to that.

“I’ve been talking to Iron Man,” he says to Steve, stopping him in the hall. He’s wearing a slate grey three piece suit with a red tie, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, pulling his jacket back, and Steve swallows. The image of his hands pushing Mr. Stark’s jacket back, following the curve of his vest and pulling him close to Steve comes unbidden in his mind, and he has to clamp down on his own desire.

“Uh huh,” Steve says, looking down, looking anywhere that isn’t the curve of Mr. Stark’s lips, the bright shine of his eyes, the sweet line of his waist.

“Why don’t we go out?” Mr. Stark is saying, and Steve can’t process those words.

What. “What.”

“You know, go get lunch. I want to know more about you, see how you’re holding up. Iron Man said that you were adjusting well, but I mean, I want to see for myself. Plus maybe I can answer some questions you have about the future.”

 _This doesn’t make any sense_ , Steve thinks. Why would Tony Stark do this himself? Surely he can get updates from Iron Man, and Steve asks Iron Man a _lot_ of questions. Why would Tony Stark be interested in whether or not Steve was okay? Shouldn’t he have more glamorous, exciting people to be talking to? Or better, more interesting projects to work on?

Steve chances a peek at Mr. Stark’s face, trying to understand what is going on. He’s grinning, but not his full on all out grin he does for cameras - Steve watches all of his press appearances religiously, and is _so_ grateful Iron Man is never there to call him on it. It’s a softer grin, just one corner of his mouth pulled back, and he’s looking at Steve intently. No guile on his face, just interest.

Steve swallows again. “I don’t mean to, uh, to… I don’t want to take any more of your time than… I mean I’m sure you’re busy right now…”

“Nope!” Mr. Stark’s smile is wider now, his eyes crinkling, and Steve feels his knees quake. _Oh, wow,_ he thinks absently. That’s the prettiest smile he’s ever seen. “Cleared my schedule, just for you. You’re an important member of the team.” He claps Steve on the shoulder.

 _Just for you…_ the feeling of that hand on his shoulder, warm and firm… the smile he’s giving Steve…

But Steve’s mind snaps out of that warm place his brain has taken him to. He needs to get it together. _Member of the team_ , Mr. Stark had said. This was professional. He’s interested in how Steve is doing on the team, he doesn’t… it’s not like that.

Steve nods decisively. “Of course. Sounds like a plan.” He’s doing his best to fill his voice with the kind of surety that kept the Invaders going, when they felt all hope was lost. “Uh… is this…” he asks, looking down at his clothes. He is wearing workout clothes, a simple t-shirt and sweats.

Mr. Stark laughs. “No problem. Most restaurants won’t be too concerned about what you wear as long as you have a shirt and shoes.”

He walks Steve down to the lobby of the mansion, chatting aimlessly as they go, and Steve’s having a hard time focusing on the words he’s saying. Steve nods where appropriate, moving only on instinct, because Mr. Stark is right there, hand on his back, so close he can smell his cologne.

He’s not sure he can place the scents - his nose is usually quite good - but he thinks it must be sandalwood with hints of citrus. There is a woody, earthy undertone to it. It’s heady and delicious and not helping Steve concentrate at all.

“Cap? You good?” He hears Mr. Stark say, and his focus snaps back.

“Sorry Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean to… my head’s just all over the place this morning.”

“Hey,” Mr. Stark says, stopping them, his voice warm but firm. “What did I tell you when we first met? You call me Tony, understood?”

“Steve. My - uh, my name is Steve,” he hears himself gush. He immediately regrets it, both because he sounds stupid and because they’re not supposed to reveal their identities as part of the Avengers charter. If Mr. Stark - if Tony - isn’t actually on the team, though, then maybe it’s okay.

“Well, nice to ‘meet’ you, Steve,” Tony says, pulling a hand from his pocket and reaching out to shake. It’s calloused, which Steve wasn’t expecting. As he pulls back, he tries his best not to cradle the hand to his chest.

“Um, sorry, I interrupted you. What did you want to ask me?”

“What kind of food do you want?” They’re walking out the front door of the mansion, down to the 5th Avenue gate where Mr. St - where _Tony_ ’s usual car is parked.

“Oh, I’m, uh… I’m not a very picky eater. I like all kinds of things.”

“Oh! Have you ever had Korean food?” Tony says, but keeps talking before Steve has the chance to say anything. “There’s a lovely little Korean Barbecue place I’d like to show you. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He smiles at Steve and winks, and Steve can feel all of the blood in his body rush to his face and his dick.

“I’m, uh, oh, wow, well, if that’s, if you’re sure that that’s, I mean, whatever you like is fine with,” Steve fumbles out, cutting himself off before he makes a complete fool of himself.

Tony positively beams at him, before opening the door and gesturing Steve inside.

He sits next to Steve, and the car is spacious, but Steve thinks this must be the first time Tony has ever sat next to him. Steve feels intensely aware of the space between them. He keeps his hands folded on his lap, afraid that if he lets them go they’ll move on their own accord and embarrass him. Plus he needs to hide how hard he got when Tony winked at him.

The Korean Barbecue is amazing, and Steve can thankfully avoid saying anything too embarrassing by stuffing his face. It’s spicy, sweet, sour, and nutty. There are so many little dishes of things, Steve feels like he’s eating a feast.

Tony laughs, laughs with his full body, when he sees Steve tear through the meal he ordered for them. “You must be pretty hungry, huh?”

Steve nods, keeping his mouth closed around the beef short ribs - he thinks Tony called them “kalbi” in a strange accent - sucking meat from the bone. Tony looks pleased with himself, and Steve feels an enormous swell in his chest that _he_ made Tony look like that. It doesn’t - it’s not like it means anything. But Steve can’t help but smile.

When he’s done, stomach full to bursting and brain barely functioning, Tony leans forward toward him. “Enjoy yourself?” He asks, grinning.

Steve gestures to the empty plates, even the bones picked clean. “It was alright.”

Tony lets out a sharp laugh. “Are you not getting enough food at the mansion, or are you always this hungry?”

“I need to eat a lot,” Steve admits, “but I have a bad habit of squirreling away food.” The words are coming out of his mouth, guilt and stutter free, and he can’t even bring himself to care. Being overfull shuts off his brain’s inhibitions, it seems.

“From the war?”

“Yeah, and before it. We didn’t have a lot back then, so we had to make everything we did have last.” He laughs. “Lots of soup.”

“Soup?” Tony quirks an eyebrow - god he looks so handsome when he does that, his brows so elegantly framing his face - and he looks genuinely interested.

“Yeah, the water helped thin out the food. A head of cabbage can last a whole week as cabbage soup.”

“Wow. So you squirrel away food?”

“I eat what Jarvis makes, enough to not feel like I’m starving, and then I put the rest in the fridge. Fridges are _amazing_. I wish we’d had those back… back before.”

“Do you _eat_ the leftovers? Or just let them grow mold in the fridge.”

“I eat them,” Steve said, trying not to sound too defensive. “Sometimes I’ll eat some in between meals. Or after a workout.”

Tony nods. “You know, you don’t have to keep food like that. You can eat until you’re full.” Steve starts to interject but Tony continues, “and just ask Jarvis to make more if there aren’t any leftovers.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Tony says, smiling warmly. “That’s an order. Eat until you’re full.” His voice softens. “You shouldn’t have to go hungry in my house, Cap. I want you to feel safe.”

“I do feel safe. But you’re right, I shouldn’t be acting like we could run out of food at any moment.” He ducks his head. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no apologizing either. You were following your habits, can’t blame you for that.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Tony.”

They sit in companionable silence for a minute. Steve almost forgets that he’s sitting across from the most wildly attractive person he has ever seen. Tony’s got some kimchi juice on the side of his mouth, and Steve wants to say something - wants to lick it off, if he’s being honest with himself - but it’s so endearing. Seeing Tony Stark like this, warm and comfortable, makes Steve’s heart sing.

Even if he weren’t the most attractive man on the planet - and Steve is certain he is - he’s so beautiful in this moment.

Tony meets his gaze for a moment and Steve smiles before looking away. He has to be normal - if he looks away too quickly, Tony will know something is up. It takes all his self control, though, feeling an electric current through his body when Tony looks at him.

Tony calls a car to pick them up, and if you asked Steve what they talked about on the way home, he could not tell you.

* * *

Steve thinks about the lunch - just a lunch, not a date - constantly, over the next couple of days. He thinks about all the things Tony said, the way his face looked in the midday light, the beautifully cut lines of his suit, and the way Tony laughed.

Steve decides that he loves Tony’s laugh. Sometimes it’s a huff, just a small puff of air from his nose. Sometimes it’s surprised, when he doesn’t expect Steve to be sarcastic or dry, and it comes from his throat and it sounds like a bark, like even he wasn’t expecting to make it.

Sometimes it’s through his whole body, starting from his belly and rolling up through his shoulders and his face and ringing out clear. Those are Steve’s favorite laughs. Each one feels like a triumph.

He shakes his head, trying to focus on the book in his hands. Iron Man is next to him, reading his own book, but he takes notice of Steve’s movement.

“You okay, Cap?”

“Yeah, fine. Just… I’m fine,” Steve says.

Iron Man does the little raising of his arms, difficult with a book in his hands, that indicates a shrug. Steve feels immediately guilty. He should be able to confide in Iron Man, he trusts Iron Man implicitly. But this feels too tender, too vulnerable, even for his best friend.

Steve pulls out his sketchbook from the side table instead. He knows what he’ll draw, same as always, but at least he can get lost in the drawing. He opens it and flicks through the pages until he finds a blank one. It’s a lot of drawings of the same subject. Tony laughing, Tony smiling, Tony looking serious - from a press conference - Tony winking, Tony yawning, Tony with his hair mussed up, Tony with his hair slicked back, Tony with the paper curled under his arm, Tony holding a briefcase, Tony wearing his nice suit, Tony in a tux, Tony in a sweatshirt. He has a page of sketches of the parts of Tony that draw his eyes the most - the slender arch of his fingers, the hook of his nose, his lips, his forearms, his neck.

He can’t spend too long looking through the sketchbook without getting a little too warm, a little too big in his clothes, so he quickly focuses on a new drawing. Thinks about what part of Tony he’ll draw this time.

He thinks about the look Tony gave him in the restaurant, when he saw Steve looking full. That pleased contentment. The joy in his eyes. He starts sketching insistently, because he knows that if he lets himself drift in his thoughts of Tony, he may never land back on the ground.

Some indeterminate time later, Iron Man stands up from his seat, jerking Steve out of his concentrated scribbling.

“Gonna hit the hay, winghead. You gonna stay up?” He asks, nodding at Steve’s sketch pad.

“Uh, no, nah, I should probably sleep.” Steve rubs the back of his head absently. He really wants to finish the drawing, but he could draw Tony all night if he doesn’t force himself to bed.

“Hey, are you free tomorrow?” Iron Man asks. “Mr. Stark mentioned something about lunch.”

Steve’s face brightens - “He did?” - before he forces it back to a neutral expression. “Right, uh, probably wants more updates on how I’m doing. Sure, tell him I’m free all day.” His only plans tomorrow were to lay around drawing Tony anyway.

* * *

He meets Tony in the lobby of the Stark offices, 1:00 pm sharp, hoping his clothes are okay. He doesn’t have much, didn’t have much even before the war, but Jan has been so kind about helping him get clothes. She doesn’t even ask why, when he tells her he wants to look nice for someone. Just smiles at him wanly.

The clothes she gets for him are much tighter than he was expecting. His movement isn’t impeded, thankfully, but he’s not sure if the effect is very flattering.

Close fitting slate-grey slacks hug the line of his legs, cup his ass closely, and demand to be looked at. The crisp white shirt, cuffs pre-rolled to the elbow, opens at his neck. The vest, easily his favorite part of the ensemble, is a lovely silver blue, embroidered with stars at the hems. He’s a little concerned at the price this must cost, but Janet waves a dismissive hand.

“I made it myself. You’ll definitely impress them, wearing a Van Dyne piece, and it’s free advertisement for me.” Steve doesn’t really feel like it evens out, but he’s kind of afraid of Jan when she’s talking about clothes, more so than when she’s flying through the air and shooting bio-blasts at the bad guys.

Tony steps out of the elevator and strides over to Steve, grinning. “Jan said she was getting you some duds, but it looks like she really hit it out of the park!” Tony says, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and steering them outside.

Tony’s not half-bad himself. He’s not as well put together as he was on their first lunch, but he looks softer. His suit jacket is a little wrinkled, probably in meetings all morning, and his tie hangs loose around his neck.

Steve hangs his head, a little bashful. “You - you think so?”

“Oh, I know so. You could have any man or woman you wanted in this town, lookin’ like that.”

Steve feels the weight of Tony’s arm on his shoulder, and wonders if that’s really true. If that were true, why didn’t Tony look at him with desire?

This is stupid, these feelings. Tony is so, so much, and Steve is barely anything at all. This is a futile attempt at grasping for something he doesn’t deserve. Tony would burn him up if he tried to get too close. Better to be happy with the longing, not daring to think this could be something more.

“Yeah. Thanks Tony,” he tries to keep the resignation out of his voice, keep it soft and neutral.

“So. You liked Korean, right? Have you ever had Indian food before?”

The food is amazing. The warm spices and thick sauces coat Steve’s tongue. Tony orders his food spicy and offers to let Steve try it, and it’s amazing. The spiciest thing Steve ate before the war was horseradish. The way the pain heats him, mixes with the spices and the flavors and makes it all burn, it’s delightful. He tells Tony as such and Tony smiles at him again, like the other smile, pleased and content, and Steve notes exactly what he has to do to make Tony look like that.

When he’s back in that headspace, overfull and light and full of warmth, where his mouth opens and he speaks without thinking, Tony asks him questions again.

“How are you doing, Cap?”

“It’s hard, being here. I get lonely, and scared, and sad. But being in the mansion with you and Iron Man helps. I don’t feel lonely there.”

His brain doesn’t have the room to try to parse through the face Tony is making, besides that it’s as beautiful as all of the faces Tony makes.

“Don’t worry, Tony, it’s getting easier. Being with the team, at the mansion, it makes it - now - feel a little bit more like home every day.”

Tony’s face breaks into a smile. Steve loves that smile. He hopes he doesn’t say it out loud and embarrass Tony.

“Thanks, Steve,” Tony says, his voice soft.

Steve knows he shouldn’t want it - but he thinks so intently in that moment of leaning over and kissing Tony. What would Tony feel like under his lips? Would he open his mouth and taste like curry? Would he lean into it or let Steve lead? Would he touch Steve?

But he can’t. He can’t think about those things. That’s not what Tony wants, could ever want, so he’s better off keeping those fantasies far away from Tony.

“How about you?” Steve hears himself asking, only aware after he says it that he is genuinely curious. “How are you doing?”

Tony blinks twice, uncertain for a moment. “Oh, uh, well, you know, doing much better now that I’m having lunch with my favorite Avenger.”

“Surely that must be Iron Man,” Steve says, but his face flushes at the thought that he is Tony’s favorite. Then he is struck by Tony’s words. “Better? Sounds like your day wasn’t going so well before?”

Tony sighs. “You got me. Just boring meetings, trying to convince our board of directors to move away from army contracts.”

“You don’t want to work with the military anymore?” Steve asks, surprised, a little affronted.

“I don’t want to build weapons, especially not if they’re going to be used in forever wars that get civilians killed.” Tony’s voice sounds bitter and hotly unbidden, as if he has been having this argument a lot recently.

“Even if it will save American lives?” Steve asks hotly.

“American lives aren’t worth more than Afghani. If I were building weapons and they were being used on American soil against everyday Americans, no one would blame me for wanting to stop.”

“But a weapon being used against civilians isn’t the fault of the weapon, just the fault of the user,” Steve counters. “It’s not the weapon’s fault that a soldier uses it for terrible ends.”

“That’s easy to say when you didn’t build the weapon! Knowing that people are using the things I am responsible for to kill innocent people, or anyone at all, it’s awful. It feels like the blood is on my hands.” Tony isn’t looking at Steve now. His hands are folded in his lap and he is glaring intently at his plate. Even the bags under his eyes and the exhausted pallor of his skin don’t do much to diminish how wickedly handsome he is to Steve, though.

“I fought in a war myself, you know. I’m sure American soldiers must have done terrible things with the guns we were given, and I never used them myself, but that doesn’t mean that General Motors was evil for making guns for us.” Steve is trying and failing to keep his tone even. “But what would a simple soldier like me know?”

Tony sighs deeply. “I’m not sure that I can explain to you the way the scale of war has changed, Cap. We’re not talking about soldiers with guns killing a civilian on accident. We’re talking about unmanned drones blowing up schools and hospitals because the military thinks a high value target is inside. We’re talking about landmines left in place for decades waiting to blow up whatever hapless child steps over them. It’s not trenches in fields anymore, it’s fighting in the midst of people’s lives.”

“And don’t they deserve people who are armed enough to protect them?”

“Bigger guns, better bombs: that’s not something that is going to make these people safer. And the military isn’t there to protect them - statistically they’re just as likely to be killed by American guns as by terrorist ones. They need infrastructure, education, medical care; stuff that guns and soldiers can’t provide them.”

“Why not make those things instead, then?” Steve asks.

“It’s not -“ Tony laughs, “it’s not nearly that simple. The pentagon’s budget is massive. They’re a big part of the reason that Stark Industries has been profitable enough to be able to fund the Avengers in the first place. Part of what I’m trying to do is convince the board that we have enough avenues of funding to be able to work on infrastructure projects. Any kind of move away from contracts with the military means losing money and stability.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Steve says, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

Tony blinks, taken aback, and then smiles unsteadily at Steve. “Thanks, Cap… it - it means a lot.”

They sit in silence, more companionable than Steve would have expected considering the earlier heat of their argument. Steve is a little worried that Tony will hold it against him, but Tony just looks appraisingly at Steve.

“You need a ride back to the mansion?” Tony offers, after a few minutes. “I’ve gotta get back into the office, hit the books.” Even his grimace manages to look handsome.

“Ah, no, uh, it’s. Nah, I’ll just walk back.”

“Okay, Cap. Suit yourself,” Tony says, shrugging. Steve loves the way his suit hangs on his shoulders, the way his shoulders move as he shrugs, the way Steve’s gaze gets to linger on Tony’s face when he’s not looking at Steve. He wants to follow Tony back to the office, wants to stay with Tony wherever he goes, but he really, really can’t do that.

Steve nods stiffly instead, and starts down the sidewalk as Tony gets in the car. He needs some air. He needs to not feel like he’s drowning in something he can’t have.

* * *

Steve is so overwhelmed by thoughts of Tony that he doesn’t even notice Iron Man looking over his shoulder at his sketchpad. The atmosphere of the library is unusually quiet, cut through with mid-afternoon light.

“What’re you drawing, winghead?”

Steve all but jumps in the air in surprise. “Oh, ha, nothing -“

“Is that m- is that Mr. Stark?” His voice, even in spite of the modulation, is incredulous.

“I mean, ah,” Steve looks around for tactical exits from this situation, but Iron Man has him pinned against the chair, one gauntlet firmly resting on his left shoulder. “Yeah,” he lets out a giddy laugh. “You caught me.”

“I mean that’s very flattering - for him, I’m sure that would be very flattering if he saw it, but, why are you drawing Tony Stark?” Iron Man shifts almost imperceptibly at his shoulder. Discomfort? Steve hopes not.

“I… this might be too personal, I don’t want to put you on the spot - I mean, the man is your boss -“

“No. Come on, Cap, you know me. I’m not gonna be uncomfortable because you’re drawing him, I just want to know what’s up. You can trust me.” Iron Man’s voice is gentle, almost kind, and Steve sighs and leans back into the chair.

“I might… I might be a bit sweet on him.”

Iron Man makes a sound in his mask, something between a cough and a whimper. “What?” His voice is almost a falsetto of his normal register.

“I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. He’s obviously - you know - he’d never think of me like that. Can’t help it, though. Like you said, uh, when we were watching that film. Hot brunettes?” Steve smiles a little sheepishly.

“You think Mr. Stark is _hot_?”

“You don’t have to make it sound so horrible,” Steve bites back, a bit defensively. “I know nothing’s going to come of it, it’s just a mild crush. Nothing I’ve never dealt with before. I won’t bring it up again if it makes you that uncomfortable.”

Iron Man doesn’t say anything, which Steve takes as assent to drop the topic. He’s a little hurt that Iron Man would react like this to Steve crushing on Tony. It’s not illegal, or anything, and it’s completely harmless for Steve to pine.

Is Iron Man jealous? Is that why his reaction is so outsized? Steve hopes not - his relationship with Iron Man is comfortably platonic, and losing their connection if he and Iron Man ever dated and broke up would be far more devastating than never seeing Tony again.

But no, Iron Man sounded more surprised than jealous. He just needs time to adjust to the idea that Steve might have feelings for his employer. He needs time and space. That’s fine, it’s not as if the feelings - or Steve and Tony - are really going anywhere.

* * *

Tony catches him later that evening, as Steve is heading to the library to do more sketching. “Hey, Steve! Just wondering if you wanted to go grab dinner? I’m starving.” He looks hesitant, almost nervous, and Steve hopes it isn’t because they got a little het up in their last conversation.

“Of course, yeah. Should I change?” Steve asks, looking down at his uniform. “Guess that’s a silly question, don’t really want to go out as Cap, huh? I’ll be - I’ll be right back.”

He meets Tony out front, jogging down the steps in new clothes - a simple pale blue button down and dark slacks - and Tony looks a little surprised to see him, as if he thought Steve might have run off. Steve frowns to himself; he doesn’t like that Tony is so hesitant just because Steve disagreed with him. He hates feeling like people don’t feel comfortable pushing back on what he says just because he’s Captain America.

Not that he is Captain America tonight. Tonight he’s just Steve, here with just Tony, having a friendly dinner.

Tony takes him to a fancy French restaurant. He speaks easily with the waiter - from Bordeaux, though Steve spent less than a day there during the war - in languid French. Tony eyes him strangely, but Steve has no idea how to read it.

“You speak French?” Tony asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve answers, a little embarrassed. “I pick up languages quick. I was stationed in France for a bit before I joined up with the Invaders, you know, and I spent my free time learning and talking to locals.”

“Wow. That’s incredible.” Tony’s voice is low and soft, and Steve feels warm from the compliment.

“Aww, thanks Tony, but it’s really no big deal. I’m sure you must know a bunch of languages, genius like yourself.”

“I do, but it doesn’t make it any less impressive. What else can you speak?”

They maintain an easy patter from there, talking idly about each other. It feels… Steve wants to say comfortable, but the truth is that it feels _safe._ Like Tony is avoiding touching on heavier topics.

After the pause in their conversation from the food arriving, Steve takes the opportunity to clear the air. “I know we, uh, disagreed a bit when we last had lunch.”

Tony looks up from the food he was excitedly digging into, face uncertain.

“I just wanted to say that I don’t think any less of you, just because we didn’t see eye to eye. I don’t respect you less when we disagree, is all.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “I didn’t think you did,” he says slowly.

Steve has to be tactful here; if he out and out says he thinks Tony’s been softballing him, then Tony might get defensive. “It’s okay if you did think that - I know the, uh, mantle of Captain America has outsized weight for some people.” He tries to keep his voice as neutral and judgment free as possible. “I just - when it’s you and me, I don’t want you to, to get all caught up on that. I’m just Steve Rogers right now, talking to my friend Tony, you know?”

Tony looks away quickly, practically a flinch for him, and Steve takes that to mean he hit on a kernel of truth.

“I value your opinion, even when it’s different from mine, is all I’m trying to say. I like it when you push back, make me think through what I’m talking about, you know?”

Tony sighs, nods, and looks back to Steve. “That makes a lot of sense. People can be like that with me too, so starstruck over Tony Stark that they don’t actually listen to what I’m saying. I promise that I won’t do that with you, okay Steve?”

“Okay. I’m glad to hear it.” Steve smiles at Tony, wanting to show how grateful he is, and Tony blinks a couple of times. Even his blinks are gorgeous, long lashes dabbing his cheeks. Steve is glad for the dim lighting - Tony would probably call it _atmospheric_ \- hoping it obscures his gaze even slightly.

They keep speaking, but it’s easier for Steve than before. Knowing that Tony won’t avoid hard topics for Steve’s comfort makes it easier to trust him when he talks about less contentious things.

Steve even gets Tony to talk about his latest project for SI. Steve loves hearing Tony talk about his tech; the excited look in his eye when he knows Steve is grasping a complicated topic sends a thrill through Steve’s whole body.

The food is familiar, though not in a bad way. Steve has never preferred French cooking to other food, but the establishment Tony took them to is clearly _excellent_. Steve thinks maybe he would be more comfortable in a diner, where he can see Tony’s face better, but that doesn’t stop him from enjoying the food.

It doesn’t stop his stomach from dropping when he sees the bill. “Oh my god, Tony, that - that can’t be right,” he says, voice awed at the ability to spend so much on one meal, but Tony laughs it off.

“Was it good? Did you enjoy yourself?” He has the warm indulgent smile that Steve loves to see on his face.

“I mean, even if I did, I would have enjoyed just about anywhere we went if I got to have dinner with you.” Steve flushes when he hears the words on his lips, internally cursing how good food loosens his tongue. Thankfully, Tony doesn’t seem to notice.

“And I wanted to take you somewhere nice. I have the money, and I wanted to show you what fine dining can be like in the future. It was an educational opportunity.”

That mollifies Steve slightly. “Then if we go out to eat again, you won’t mind if we skip over menus with this kind of pricing now that I’ve been exposed?”

Tony opens and closes his mouth - the urge to kiss him then comes unbidden to Steve and he has to clamp down on it - and then nods sullenly. “If?” he asks, looking down at his plate.

“If what?”

“If we go out again?”

“I just - I don’t want to presume,” Steve stammers out. “You’re a busy fella, and I’m - I mean, I wouldn’t blame you, I guess is what I’m saying. If you didn’t.”

“If I didn’t go out with you.” Tony repeats back.

“To eat. Yeah.”

“To eat.”

Steve has no idea what to do when Tony just repeats what he says back at him. “Yeah?” He’s having a hard time keeping his thoughts away from what Tony’s mouth looks like hanging open, and it makes him feel slow and stupid.

“What if I told you that I _do_ want to keep going out with you?” Tony asks, his voice low and rumbly and vibrating through Steve down to his toes.

“To eat?” Steve hears himself asking, distantly, his stomach wrapping itself in knots as he tries not to think about Tony talking like that right next to his ear, or chest to chest, or with his mouth on Steve’s -

“Or maybe more…”

“I mean, I love talking with you,” Steve admits, bemused.

“Do you want to step out with me, Steve?” Tony asks, in that same voice.

“Sure, we can go outside if you want,” Steve says, completely lost and more than a little flustered. “I think our jackets are -“

Tony growls in frustration, raising his voice. “That’s not -“

Steve finds he kind of likes it when Tony growls, but at this moment it’s more upsetting than pleasant. Jerking back to reality, Steve stands up from the table. “Why don’t I meet you back at the mansion. Give you some time to figure out what you want to say to me without losing your cool.”

“Wait, Steve, no-“ Tony begins, but Steve is already halfway across the restaurant.

Getting away from Tony and out into the cool air of the evening feels like a bucket of water poured over his head. His thoughts aren’t nearly so swamped and his face not nearly so hot. He starts walking down the street, hoping to lose Tony before he can catch up and send Steve spiraling back into desires he isn’t allowed to feel, longings he isn’t allowed to name.

* * *

At least Tony doesn’t stop talking to him after what must have been a truly disastrous dinner. In fact, he seems even more determined to be around Steve, inviting him down to the workshop or offering to watch films with him.

Best of all, Tony eats dinner with them, something Steve has never seen him willingly do. Iron Man always says that Tony has work, so it’s gratifying to see Tony sitting down next to Steve, smiling at him, eating the same food as the rest of them.

Steve has to be more careful when he’s in front of Jan and Hank, though. He limits his glances, schools his face, so that no trace of his feelings will come across in his features. He doesn’t think they notice, probably because they spend most of their time talking and laughing with Tony.

“Tony, Tony, please, you have to tell Cap and Ant-Man about that time Angelica passed out while you two were dancing. I thought I would die of laughter.”

“Well,” Tony begins, leaning forward towards Steve and grinning fiercely. “Me and Angie were what you might call adventurous. We had been drinking and flirting the night away, during one of those endless galas, and we were both very bored, as you can imagine. She was there representing her father’s company - she’s their head of marketing - and I didn’t know anyone there besides her and Janet.”

Tony is looking Steve right in the eyes and Steve can feel his breath catch in his throat, enraptured by the story and the way Tony’s lips are moving as he speaks.

“We decided we’d try to spice up the evening,” Tony says, going low and husky on the last. “She brought two vibrators - you know what a vibrator is, right Cap?”

Steve shakes his head, slowly, though he’s pretty sure he has a good idea what they are for.

“It’s a toy, for stimulation. You turn it on and rub it on yourself and it feels real nice.” Jan says, as if that is a perfectly normal thing to talk about.

It’s heady in his mind, the image of Tony holding something, flicking a switch, the air filled with a low humming, and rubbing it on his - it’s almost too filthy to contemplate. He licks his lips, desperate for some moisture. “So, what, you try to see how long you can last?” He asks, trying to sound more confident than he feels.

“Precisely, _mon capitan_ ,” Tony says, surely enunciating the French as some joke for Steve’s sake. “She thought she had it in the bag, because she insisted I place it in a particularly… _delicate_ location.” Tony waggles his eyebrows at Steve and laughs with Jan and Ant-Man.

Steve’s face must be on fire, the way the heat rises in his cheeks.

“Little did she know,” Tony continues, “I have a good deal more stamina than she. She held out, I’ll give her that, but with the drinks in our system, she was out after half an hour of dancing. Passed out right on the dance floor. Slept like a truck in the limo back.”

The others are gasping and holding their sides while Steve has to turn away from Tony’s gaze, the thought of _Tony_ , handsome, elegant, incredible Tony with a vibrator up his ass doing strange things to Steve’s insides. When he looks back, Tony is still looking at him, a strangely dazed grin on his face.

Steve smiles back, trying so hard to look unmoved, even if his erection is pressing tightly against his uniform pants and his breathing is as labored as it is in battle.

He has to wait until everyone else is done with their food, gets up, and wishes him good night before he can stand and shuffle awkwardly to his room, desperate to deal with his aching cock.

* * *

After a week of furious masturbation after every group dinner, Steve has decided he needs to do something about this. He decides to ask for advice.

Jan doesn’t seem surprised to see him when he knocks on her door in the mansion. “You okay, Cap?” She asks. He can’t meet her gaze, just looking down at his clasped hands.

“Can we talk?”

Jan opens the door wider, motioning Steve into the room. Ant-Man is thankfully not there, probably still working in his lab. Steve stands just inside of the doorway, unsure where to go or what to do with himself.

“Is this about Tony?” Jan asks gently, startling Steve out of his confused thoughts.

He nods, grateful that she has some inkling of what is eating at him. “It’s - uh - can I sit?”

Jan motions for the chair by her desk, before sinking down onto the bed.

“Well, uh, I think I -“

“Might have feelings for him?” Jan asks, raising an eyebrow and smiling gently.

Steve gapes at her for a few beats. “What? How -“

Jan shakes her head. “You’re not very subtle, and neither is he. You should tell him, Cap.”

“I mean, I don’t - he wouldn’t, not with me.”

“Please. He’s been flirting with you for the last week.”

Tony may have been blatant - and quite explicit - in the stories and jokes he told around Steve, mostly for Steve’s benefit he has to admit, but that’s not the same thing as flirting with him.

“I think he might just be fucking with me,” Steve admits. The thought of Tony Stark genuinely desiring him is all but incomprehensible. It just doesn’t add up.

“I promise, he really isn’t. I’ve seen Tony mess with people before, trust me I have, and that is not the way he treats you.”

Steve shakes his head, still unbelieving.

“Here, how about this: why don’t you flirt back?” Steve stares at her in stunned silence. “If he’s messing with you, maybe you have to mess with him too. And if he’s being genuine, then he’ll reciprocate! Win-win, in my book.”

“That’s - huh, that, that sort of makes sense.” If Tony had initiated, then he won’t mind if Steve plays into it. At least, Steve hopes so.

Jan gives him a winning smile. “They don’t say I’m sharp for nothing, Cap.”

“Okay. So I just… flirt. With him.” Steve’s not really sure how to do that, but he’s also not sure that Jan is going to be much help either. “I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks again, you’ve been a huge help.”

Jan gives him a jaunty salute and yawns before waving him goodnight.

* * *

He doesn’t see Tony all day. Steve decides that the best way to work off his nervous energy is to draw, but the only thing he can think of is the image of Tony, vibrator rubbing his tender hole, fucking into him.

After an hour of trying to draw the Iron Man armor and failing, he gives in and opens to a blank page. He sketches in fits, anxiously watching the door in case anyone came in and caught him. Not that they would be able to see, but somehow that thought didn’t reassure Steve much.

He starts with the vibrator - he looked up what they looked like the night that Tony told his story - and Tony’s hand, then the tight ring of muscle of Tony’s asshole, then his cheeks and the cuff of Tony’s fancy suit. By the time evening has come and he needs to stop for dinner, Steve has even managed to capture what he imagines Tony’s face must look like: eyes clenched with pleasure, mouth hung slack, hair fallen haphazardly over his forehead.

He closes the notepad and brings it with him to the kitchen, hearing the voices of his teammates as he gets closer.

They’re already sitting at the table, chatting animatedly. Tony doesn’t notice him immediately, and it gives Steve the chance to look at his profile. Tony is almost painfully gorgeous like this, wearing simple grease-stained clothes and smiling wide. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and smiles at Tony when the man looks at him.

“Hey, Cap, good to see you! Sorry I wasn’t around today, I had a ton of work at the office.” Tony sounds earnest in a way that leaves no room for doubt in Steve’s mind that he could be lying.

He remembers what Jan said. He’s fought nazis and Namor - surely a little flirting can’t be so bad. “I missed you,” he says simply, and has to fight his wince. It sounds pathetic to his ears, but Tony just blinks.

“I, uh, I missed you too.”

Jarvis is spreading food on the table before either of them can think of what to say to continue the conversation.

Steve allows himself to look at Tony, uninterrupted by fear or shame. He is gorgeous, somehow even better in the whole than the parts that compose him. He is a blur of motion settled into skin and Steve never wants to stop trying to capture Tony with his eyes.

Tony glances at Steve throughout the meal, periodically, but Steve doesn’t let that stop him from looking. He just eats calmly, patiently, feeling more sated by the sight of Tony than the wonderful food Jarvis made for them.

“You good, soldier?” Tony asks him, sounding a little nervous.

“Never better. You look… you look great,” Steve says, trying to mimic the low and sultry tone Tony used to push his buttons.

The pink that floods Tony’s cheeks must be a blush, and Steve feels an intense satisfaction at the sight. He grins at Tony, rakes his gaze hungrily down the line of the man’s rumpled suit. Tony’s color deepens.

“Uh, that’s - uh, thanks,” Tony stammers. “You too. Great.”

Jan grabs Ant-Man by the arm and drags him up from his seat. Steve is endlessly grateful for her ability to read the room, especially when Ant-Man is so inept at it. “We’ll go set up a movie, take your time,” she says, a little rushed, and Steve nods at her. He doesn’t move his eyes off of Tony, though.

Tony looks at them hurry out of the room and begins to stand. Steve clamps a hand on Tony’s wrist, not pulling him in but not letting him leave either. “Can we talk?”

Tony startles, then makes a forced little laugh. “Sure, Steve. What, uh, what do you -“

“Are you flirting with me?” Steve asks, careful to keep his voice neutral.

“Oh - I’m - I don’t - I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just -“

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Steve says with a small frown. “I just want to know if you’re serious or not.”

Tony’s gaze darts around the room, he laughs breathily, and then swallows. “I don’t - I mean, ah, maybe?” He tries to smile, but it’s very small and fragile. It’s kind of amazing that stammering, nervous Tony Stark is somehow just as beautiful as composed, smiling for the camera Tony Stark.

Steve can’t let himself get distracted by Tony, though. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

“I was - I um, I was serious. But if it made you uncomfortable I can stop, it’s fine, I totally understand -“

“I like it,” Steve finds himself saying, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. “I like it, when you - I like it.”

“Oh.” Tony’s eyes are wide, his voice barely a whisper, and he licks his lips unthinkingly. Steve darts his gaze down to catch the movement, the line of Tony’s tongue across his bottom lip, and opens his mouth. He doesn’t know what to say, if he even should say anything, so he lets out a small breath instead.

Tony puts his hand on the table and leans forward, closing the scant feet between them, and Steve’s heartbeat thunders in his ears with Tony so close to him. He can see the fine detail of Tony’s lashes, each strand of Tony’s carefully groomed mustache, and can feel each pant of breath on his own lips.

“Can I -“ Tony begins to ask.

“Yes,” Steve says immediately, unable to take his eyes off of Tony’s lips. He’s not entirely sure what Tony is offering, but he feels certain that he wants whatever Tony is willing to give him.

Tony closes his eyes and then the gap between them, places his lips delicately on Steve’s, and stays there for a moment. His lips are chapped and warm, but it’s not unpleasant.

Tony pulls away slowly, fluttering his eyes open, and looks at Steve carefully, cautiously. Steve’s breathing is heavier than it has any right to be after the serum. Tony is watching Steve intently and Steve knows he should reassure Tony, should say something, but the words are caught up in his head.

“Are you -“ Tony begins to ask, but Steve puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders, rubbing them gently. Tony jerks his head down to look at Steve’s hand, then slowly raises his head until he’s looking at Steve again.

“Can we - can we do that again, maybe?”

Tony’s look of relief is stunning; almost blindingly gorgeous on his face. The anxiety melting away, his wide, easy smile, and the soft fondness of his eyes are almost enough to make Steve want to look away.

“Sure thing,” Tony says, and leans back in to kiss him again.

* * *

Steve brings a tray of food from Jarvis down to Tony’s workshop. Three days of easy smiles, lingering hugs, and soft kisses has made Steve feel tender in a way he’s not familiar with. He’s kind of hoping they’ll move into more… physical territory, but Tony is taking it achingly slow.

Steve can wait, though. It’s still hard to believe that Tony wants him at all. Sometimes Steve wonders if it’s just pity or obligation. Tony could do so much better than Steve; maybe he’s only staying so that he doesn’t hurt Steve’s feelings.

But when Tony sees him and wraps his arms around Steve, pulls him close and all but vibrates in his embrace, Steve has a hard time feeling guilty.

He holds the tray with one hand and gently opens the door, hoping not to interrupt Tony’s work. When he steps through the doorway, however, Tony isn’t at his bench at all.

He does see something there, however. A notebook, sharply familiar, open to a certain drawing. Steve feels his face flush instantly - even across the room he can recognize the subject. It’s - oh lord, has Tony seen his drawing?

Steve’s not sure if he wants the answer to be yes or no. He doesn’t want to frighten Tony, or push him into anything too quickly, but the thought of Tony seeing it, of enjoying it, sends heat all through his body.

He’s so preoccupied with thoughts of his sketchpad and the drawing that he almost doesn’t notice the soft moaning from the couch tucked against the workshop wall.

“Oh my gosh, Tony? Are you okay?” He stumbles over parts - maybe from the armor, Iron Man damaged it in their last outing - and sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Tony is - _oh_.

“Mmm, hey gorgeous,” Tony says, looking hungrily at Steve through heavily lidded eyes. He’s wearing the kind of suit Steve drew him in - sleek black wool, almost silky smooth to Steve’s eyes, peak lapels reminiscent of the formal tailcoats Steve saw in the pictures back in the day, and closely tailored to Tony’s shoulders.

The next thing to draw his eyes is the shirt, crisp white and starched - did Tony do that for his sake? Most people don’t seem to starch their shirts anymore, at least not at the fancy events Steve saw Tony attending on TV. It’s smooth, too, not the kind of pleated look that most fancy shirts have. The wing tips carefully fall over Tony’s bowtie, glossy black silk that Steve wants to pull taught with his hands. It’s clearly hand-tied, but so well done that it might as well be one of those pre-tied things Steve has seen.

Tony is wearing studs in his shirt instead of buttons, tiny black pearls dotting the line down to his - and cufflinks too, matching the studs. The black pearl shines in the workshop light, looking like an inky diamond. Steve itches to draw this, to commit this image to paper, but Tony adjusts his pants and Steve’s gaze is drawn lower.

Tony’s hand, just below the black silk cummerbund around his waist, is grinding against the tent in Tony’s dress slacks. Steve can’t help but eye the line of Tony’s thigh, the close fit of the wool against his skin, the way the satin side stripe curves where Tony’s leg bends.

Tony grunts, whimpers, and pants softly. Steve’s gaze jerks back up to Tony’s hand and his groin, lingering on the small patch of dampness visible at the peak of the tent in his pants.

Steve has never felt more aroused in his entire life.

Tony moans again, slightly louder, and his voice sounds strained when he says, “a little help, here?”

Steve rushes to his side, kneeling down in front of the couch. “What can I - are you - how,” he stammers, hovering his hands over Tony, not sure if he’s allowed to touch.

Tony laughs weakly. “You’re good - great - god you look so hot right now, holy shit Steve, I just - kind got stuck,” he pants.

“Stuck?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice from rising to a panic.

“Just need you to, uh, turn me over, and -“

Steve is already turning Tony over, picking him up by his hips, which thrust uselessly against his grip, and gently placing him belly-down on the couch.

Tony immediately grinds his hips into the couch and groans. Steve thinks he might come in his pants if he so much as breathes too suddenly, his whole body shot through with arousal at the sight of Tony so thoroughly taken apart.

“Need you - need you - pull down my pants,” Tony grits out, raising his hips to let Steve pull Tony’s pants down his thighs, revealing the curve of his ass, inch by inch. Steve doesn’t have time to process that Tony isn’t wearing any underwear before he can see the barest peek of some kind of color between Tony’s cheeks.

“Tony, is that…?”

“Need you - ah - to, to pull it out. Slowly.”

Steve grabs Tony’s legs and spreads them - Tony allowing the motion easily, and Steve really needs to ignore his libido in his kind of situation - and hesitantly touches the flared plastic covering Tony’s - Tony’s hole.

It’s vibrating to his touch, and Steve suddenly realizes exactly how this situation must have arisen. He can see Tony putting on his fancy duds in his mind, easing the vibrator against his hole, before putting it in and filling himself up. Was this - was this for Steve? Because of the drawing?

But he can’t get carried away with fantasies right now. Tony’s whimpers may be hot, but he needs Steve’s help.

Steve pushes Tony’s cheeks apart and gently, ever so gently, eases the toy out of his ass. With each pull Tony writhes against the leather of the couch, gasping Steve’s name like a plea.

When it’s out, like a plop, Steve can see the shape of it - curiously curved, sloping at an angle from the base. It’s not what he had expected Tony’s vibrator to look like, though then again he’s not entirely sure what he _had_ expected. In his drawing, he left it as vaguely egg-shaped like the ones he looked up online - certainly not as long and phallic as the thing still buzzing in his hand.

Tony sighs, pushing himself up from the couch, sweat dripping down his forehead. “That’s really - really not how I’d hoped that would go.”

Steve furrows his brow. “What exactly were you hoping for?”

“Well, I saw your,” Tony gestures at the sketchpad. “Which, you left that out by the way, you should - should be more careful.” He’s still panting, his dress slacks around his ankles, his head laying against the back of the couch. Steve wants so very badly to kiss the skin of his neck on full display like this.

“And so you…”

“I thought, I mean, when I saw it, I thought maybe you’d like to - to try it out. I was hoping to surprise you,” Tony admits sheepishly, “but I forgot how… _stimulating_ , those things can be. And you took longer than I had expected.”

“Sorry, I didn’t - if I had known -“

“Not your fault,” Tony says, staring up at the ceiling, his bowtie askew from where it was pressed into the arm of the couch. Steve doesn’t even try to stop himself, just reaches over and straightens it with both hands.

Tony stiffens slightly at the movement, but when Steve leans back, he’s smiling.

“You like what you see?” Tony asks, grinning at Steve.

“Uh - yes, very much so,” Steve says, certain his face is burning with embarrassment.

“Well, I’m sorry that my ass is out of commission, but I can still, I mean, if you want, we could -“

Steve nods immediately. “Yes,” he says breathlessly. “You - god, Tony, you have no idea how hot you look right now.”

Tony looks down at himself, his cock pressing against his cummerbund, residual drops of pre-come wetting the fabric. “Well,” Tony says, “I had no idea the tux would do it for you like this, or I’d wear nothing else.”

“Oh,” Steve says, breath catching in his throat. “I mean, you shouldn’t, or I’d walk into all your furniture and break it.”

Tony laughs and his cock bounces and Steve is completely mesmerized by the sight. He wants - he has no idea what he wants. He wants Tony, all of Tony, whatever Tony wants.

“Can I…?” Steve asks, reaching tentatively for Tony’s dick, wanting desperately to hear Tony whimper and moan like he had before. Steve realizes he’s holding the vibrator in his other hand and drops it on the table, next to the abandoned tray of food.

Tony grabs his hand while he’s looking away and guides it to Tony’s cock, wrapping Steve’s fingers around it. Steve wasn’t expecting it to be so warm, or so smooth. Not quite smooth, soft? But Tony’s dick is rock hard. Steve sits still for a moment, caught up in the sensation of Tony - _Tony_ \- in his hand, the feeling of it.

But then Tony moans, makes a tiny thrust with his hips into Steve’s hand, dragging that soft-smooth-warm skin along his fingers, and gasps wetly. Steve tightens his grip reflexively, though he’s not sure exactly how to make it feel good for Tony. Tony’s dick looks like Arnie’s, though Steve only ever caught glimpses of it in the showers at their school; a section of lighter skin towards the end, tapering up to the underside of the cockhead. No foreskin at all, so Steve isn’t sure if the strategies he uses on himself will work.

Tony doesn’t wait for Steve to freak out about his dick, however. In the span of moments it takes for Steve to begin his thoughts, Tony is choking out, “tighter, a little tighter babe,” and when Steve tightens his grip, “yeah, just like that, perfect, you’re so perfect for me, now just - just jerk it down and up, yeah, god you’re so good, a little slower at first, okay? I’ll tell you when to speed up, don’t want to come all over you and the tux quite yet, huh?”

And it’s - Steve had imagined that Tony would speak when they - during the act, as it were, but it’s one thing to imagine and another to hear the effects of his hand palming Tony’s cock, knowing that it’s _him_ making Tony act like this, that it’s _Steve_ turning Tony into a moaning mess.

And Tony is making the most erotic noises. Steve’s not sure if Tony even can tell him to speed up, but even that initial rhythm is enough to pull Tony to pieces. Not even thirty seconds later, Tony is coming, spraying his cummerbund, jacket, shirt, and even a few drops on his bowtie.

Tony whimpers and clenches his eyes shut as his body shudders through the tail end of his orgasm, looking debauched and degraded. Steve feels his body tense, his stomach clench so tightly he has no choice but to hunch over, and he’s shooting off. In his pants. Without being touched.

When he can unclench his muscles and relax enough to look up at Tony again, the man’s jaw is open and his eyes are wide. “Did you just - just from me? From - no touching?”

Steve feels true humiliation, then, shocking his body like anger, and he turns away sharply.

“No, no, no, hey, look at me?” Tony says, gently stroking Steve’s cheekbone with his thumb. Steve turns back to look at Tony reluctantly, keeping his face as guarded as he can. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t - that was me, making you feel that way? Extremely humbling. I wish I could show you how beautiful you look right now, honestly it’s making me wish my ass weren’t so sore because I want you to fuck me so badly.”

It’s - it’s too much. Too much from Tony, the most handsome person he’s ever met, currently riding the high of orgasm and saying nice things about Steve just because he helped get him off. Steve sighs and leans his forehead against Tony’s bare thigh.

“Are you - are you okay, Steve?”

“It’s - I’ll be fine, Tony.”

“No, no, hey, did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? You should feel good, you should feel amazing, what’s - what did I do,” Tony finishes pathetically, his hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to push Steve up.

“It’s not - I feel good. I feel really good. I just - you’re, um, ‘out of my league’? I think is what Rick calls it, anyway. It’s not - I mean, not that you have to be - but, I know you could have much more experienced people, if you wanted. Smarter, too. Who wouldn’t,” he gestures down at his pants.

“I don’t - I don’t want anyone but you,” Tony says simply.

Steve can’t seem to stop his mouth from running. “I mean, I get it, maybe you feel bad, or want to keep me on the team - ah, I mean, I promise I won’t leave even if you do pick someone better than me, or worse than me, not that you should - you deserve the best.”

Tony’s eyes are narrowed, but he doesn’t say anything and Steve just plows on.

“And I mean, I’m just a kid, really, especially, you know, with this stuff - I’m just turned 24, at least if my math is right, and - I mean, I haven’t even gone to university like you. You’re - you’re just. You’re real swell, Tony, and I’m nothing, not without the shield, and I don’t want to be Captain America when I’m with you, you know? I don’t - I want you to like me, not - not him.

“So, I mean, I guess that’s to say that, uh, if you don’t want to do this, that’s - I understand.” Steve swallows a lump in his throat, feels pressure behind his eyes, but refuses to cry in front of Tony. He doesn’t want to look even more pathetic than he already is.

“I’m 23,” Tony says. “And you could be a supermodel if you wanted to. Hell, you are probably the hottest man on earth by any attempt at an objective standard. But I don’t really care about that. I just, really like you.” Tony sounds almost shy as he says it. “You care. You argue with me when you think I’m wrong. You’re really smart about people, and funny, and sweet. You don’t mind that I’m a workaholic or that I have more money than any human being should own. I just, really like you.”

Steve looks up from Tony’s thigh, sits up so he can meet Tony’s gaze, and he sees no guile there. Tony seems, if anything, hopeful. His smile is small, not quite reaching his eyes, and he’s wrenching his hands together.

“Lord, I’m so gone on you,” Steve says to himself in a whisper, and Tony must hear because he laughs, throws his head back and shakes his whole body with it.

“Right back at ya. I can’t _believe_ you think you’re out of my league. Are you kidding me? You? If anything I’m not good enough for you,” Tony says, but he’s smiling down at Steve through his lashes, no bitterness or guilt there, just affection.

Steve slides up Tony, not wanting to break contact but wanting to reach his lips. He feels Tony’s semen through his t-shirt where he rubs the damp patches on Tony’s fancy shirt. And then he’s kissing Tony, falling into a rhythm they’ve already established over the last week, panting open mouthed into Tony’s lips, rutting his tongue against Tony’s and swirling it through Tony’s mouth. When he breaks the kiss and pulls away, Tony’s gaze is unfocused and his breaths are heavy.

“You’re one of the best men I know. Maybe, and I’m not going to pretend I’m any good at following this advice, but maybe we should accept that we are equally sweet on each other, for whatever foolish reasons, and just enjoy what we’ve got. Just a thought.”

Tony smiles. “It’s a good thought, Rogers. You’ve got a smart head on those shoulders.”

Steve smiles back. “That’s what my mom always said,” and pulls Tony in for another kiss.

* * *

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says, knocking on the workshop doorframe. Tony smiles easily at the familiar intrusion, wiping a rag across his forehead and walking forward to meet Steve.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Tony says, staring at Steve’s lips.

He’s not - _wow_ , Tony must be feeling randy right now, to be so blatant where anyone could walk in and see.

Steve places a hand gently on Tony’s sternum, preventing him from leaning forward and stealing a kiss and thirty minutes of Steve’s time. “I haven’t seen Iron Man much around the mansion lately. Is he okay?”

Tony just grins. “Why, you been missing him?”

Steve tilts his head. “Yeah, a bit. Just wanted to talk to him, make sure he’s okay, you know?”

“Well, I don’t think he’s busy right now - I’ll call him and have him come over from the office. Why don’t you go meet him up in the library.”

“Sure thing, Tony,” Steve says, before leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Tony grins, lifting a hand to press against the cheek Steve kissed, before closing the door and leaving Steve to jog off to the library.

It only took 5 minutes of waiting for the golden Avenger to show.

“Hey, Cap, how’s it going? Mr. Stark said you needed me?” Steve can't believe how much he missed the sound of Iron Man's artificial voice.

“Hey, Iron Man! It’s good to see you. I just wanted to talk about the subject we touched on when we last spoke.”

Iron Man tilts his head to the side. “Uh, gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“With the, um,” Steve looks down at his hands, sure he must be blushing. “The sketchpad? The drawings?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, okay, I remember that.” Iron Man moves to sit, and Steve mirrors him.

“I just wanted to clarify - me and Tony are seeing each other right now.”

“Well, that’s -“ Iron Man begins to say, but Steve cuts him off.

“If that’s going to be a problem for you, please let me know now, and we can figure out someone to replace me on the team.” He folds his arms across his chest.

“Wait, _what_? Why would we -“

“I know your feelings about me and Tony being together might not be positive, and if that’s something you can’t handle, I understand. I’m not, I’m not _happy_ about it, but as long as you don’t bother Tony, I’ll survive.”

“Winghead, why on earth would I be uncomfortable about you and m - Mr. Stark dating? I’m happy for you! Congratulations.”

“I don’t - oh. I mean, when I told you last week, you didn’t really seem to happy," Steve says, a little chagrined.

“It was a lot to process!”

“... and then you disappeared for two weeks. I didn’t see you at all outside of Avengers Alerts. I thought you were avoiding me because you were uncomfortable.” Steve looks down at his hands.

Iron Man makes a choking sound. “Ah, fuck. I’m sorry. It was a lot to process at first, and then I got busy - we had a bunch of disturbances at our factories.”

Steve didn’t see anything in the news, but he supposes they might be the kinds of things that don’t get shared with reporters.

“So you’re not - you don’t mind?” Steve tries to keep his voice neutral, even though his chest is swelling with hope.

“No! Of course not, I’m glad that you found someone you like. I hope he treats you right.”

Steve lets out a massive sigh of relief, before nodding. “He does. God, that’s good to hear. I was in conniptions thinking you hated me, or Tony. I really didn’t want my friend to turn out to be a homophobe, especially like this.”

Iron Man shakes his head and lets out a breathy laugh. “Don’t worry, Cap, that definitely won’t be an issue.”

“Okay. Good. Do you want to maybe try sparring some? I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to you in a week, I’ve been missing my favorite shellhead.”

Iron Man spreads his hands, tilting his head slightly. Steve is sure he must be smiling behind the mask. “Of course. Lead the way, winghead.”


End file.
